red
by elomelo
Summary: A forbidden, twisted love is only the thing of dreams. Or so it seems to Light and Misa, both entangled in something and someone that has returned from the dead. And it looks like they're not the only ones. Post Yotsuba Arc. LxLight
1. dreams

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note in any way shape or form.

**A/N:** This is me breathing life into a path less traveled. Enjoy.

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**r e d**

**1. dreams I**

She sits on the edge of the bed, her head resting against the smooth, pale arms wound around her shoulders. He is so cold, so very cold, like ice, but his breath is warm on her neck. And he begins to work his way down, lips brushing against the sensitive skin. But he isn't kissing her – he would never (never dream of it, never) – he is speaking, chanting, a fervent mantra so low she can't hear him. She doesn't need to – she knows what he was saying, lips brushing, moving, warning her. That this is impossible (he'd never ever). That he didn't want _this_, never this.

"These are dangerous grounds, Misa-san."

She flinches at the words spoken so clearly and warm against her hip, aroused and angry. Under different circumstances she would push him back and devour the lips that wouldn't hesitate to sentence her to a thousand painful deaths. She would do it now, without the same hesitation, but he wouldn't respond. She is no fool; she's been around the world and had picked up more than a few tricks. She knows how to pleasure him, make him throw back his head and writher like a puppet while she pulls the strings. But it won't be her name on his lips, his moans wouldn't be for her (never, never, never) and she doesn't want to hear it, not _**that**_ name.

He stops abruptly – her breath caught in her throat – and pulls back, sighing deeply like he is bored - _like him, just like him_ – and leans against the headboard, pulling the silken sheets to his chest. She exhales, not as deeply, and turns to him.

"What? What is it?" he asks, thin eyebrows furrowed.

"You're tired of me," she says sadly.

"Cover up;" he points a slender finger at her nakedness, "you're not good at this, Misa-san, seducing me."

"Seducing? You're the one who…who…." She can't bring herself to finish and looks away from his dark eyes, and rises up and pulls on a faded nightshirt.

"Don't," he holds up a hand when she is about to sit back on the bed, "this might be your dream but I'm still myself." He sighs again, closing his eyes. "Does he miss me?" It was a hoarse whisper, like a voice after shouting or crying.

"Why are you asking me that?" She takes a seat by the window, head turned away from him.

He chuckles gravely. "Oh. I thought so. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. You never were." She glares at him, her vision blurring with tears.

"Then why am I here?"

She wipes her eyes on the shirt and sniffs. "I don't know."

"I think you do." He shifts a bit, tousling the sheets, and leans forward on his haunches. "I'm a detective, a people-watcher. I saw the signals – from both of you, in case you're feeling particularly special – but the plane can only fly one way." He grinned impishly, clearly amused by his own little joke.

"You're disgusting," she says, teeth grit, "you ended up dead, didn't you? Dead, dead, dead! You were nothing to him! You're nothing now! Nothing!"

He sighs lightly and lies back against the headboard. "What's the word again, both of us…screwed over? That's it. Except I knew what I was getting into, the whole time, but I'm more tactful than you think." He pauses, looking up at the dim yellow light on the ceiling, than back at her. "And you're wrong. I was everything to him. _Everything_. Do you know what that feels like?"

"He wanted to kill you!"

"Oh, he wanted to do a bit _more_ before that. All in due time, all in due time."

"He killed you! Like it was nothing!"

"Oh, no, you're not listening, Misa-san. I was everything, from the beginning to the end that's yet to come. And killing me was everything, don't you see that? He'd kill you just the same if you were got in his way. Except you're not everything."

"I know, I know." She holds her face in her hands. "Would I ever get in his way? He needs me…needs me…my eyes."

"Don't ask me. I don't have all the answers."

"It's my dream."

"It's my body."

"You're dead."

"And you want me, even now."

"Leave me, just leave. I don't want you here."

"As you wish." He rises and pulled on the white shirt over his sinewy frame, then the baggy jeans. "I'll be back." He doesn't look at her as he stands at the door, the blue backpack slung over his slumped shoulders.

"I hate you," she hisses.

"Alright," he sighs, opening the door and letting in a sliver of red light, "as you like."

"Why is it red?"

"What?"

"The light. In the hall."

"Why don't you step out and see why?"

"Shut up." But he is gone, leaving her in a hotel room that smelled like sex and nothing more or less.

She slumps onto the floor, clutching her face and rocking back and forth. If only the voice would stop, that one voice.

* * *

**A/N:** Have faith – this makes more sense as the story moves forward. Or less sense, depending on how you see it. Please review and let me know what you think.

Cheers,

_**elomelo**_


	2. dreams II

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note in any way shape or form.

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**r e d**

**2. dreams II**

"You're late," he drawls lazily, flicking the ashes from the cigarette into the crystal ashtray on the side table, and then returning it between his lips. He is naked but the red sheets cover him waist down.

The other man's eyebrows disappear momentarily under his unruly bangs, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"What?" The man with the cigarette gives him a look, clearly displeased at the time the other is wasting.

"Smoking is a leading cause of lung cancer, Light-kun."

The brunette crushes the cigarette in the ashtray. "Yet another thing I can't control."

"Control?"

"This room, the bed, the lights, the window. Even the cake." He gestures at the silver trolley by the bed. "I can change all that however I want. But some things…" he shakes his head, "like the cigarette."

"Maybe you think it's sexy. Like a black and white movie. I'm the detective." He adds.

Light pretends he doesn't hear the bitterness and laughs to lighten the mood. "Of course. What does that make me?"

"The femme fatale."

"Oh, really?"

"Mhm." He drops the backpack onto the floor and peels off the white shirt. He can feel the chestnut eyes on him, clouded with desire.

"You said yet another you can't control. What else can't you control?"

"You want to know?"

"Yes." Next are the jeans, sliding down his legs.

"No drawers?"

"Oh, that, no. Call it unsanitary if you wish but I don't really need it."

"Isn't it…uncomfortable?"

"Being dead?" Black eyes flash dangerously, challenging. He sighs and slips between the sheets beside Light. Tan arms wrap around him, pressing him into the golden chest. He feels Light's hardness pressed against his thigh and his groin reacts instantly. But neither acts on it.

A few beats of silence. "What's got you so riled up?" Light whispers into the dark hair, inhaling the scent. He pulls back immediately, releasing L.

"What? What is it, Light?"

"You went to see her, didn't you?" his voice is controlled but L sees the anger and hurt in his eyes.

"Yes," he doesn't lie, just lies back, noting the space between them now, "I did."

Light breathes deeply a few times and turns back to L. "I'm not angry. I'm not angry."

"You're not angry."

"No. Not really. It's not your fault."

"She makes me."

"I know."

"I can't control it. Like you can't control the sexy cigarette."

Light laughs and pulls the detective back into his arms. "So you _do_ find it sexy?"

"Very."

"Very what?"

"You're cruel."

"Say it."

He sighs. "Very sexy. Happy?"

"Very."

"Very what?"

"Very happy. Very very damn happy." He kisses him roughly, plunging his tongue, tasting and sucking and nipping. The detective responds just as hungrily – fingers grasping auburn hair, back arching to deepen the kiss - and soon they are tangled in the sheets as L rolls onto him. Like everything between them, this is a fight, of dominance, of power. Their teeth meet at times, painfully, scraping against lips and tongues. Smoke and sweetness, mingling. L breaks the kiss, pulling back momentarily to examine the other's face; flushed and lip's slowly swelling. The detective lowers his head to kiss him again but Light grips his arm tightly. "Ryuzaki."

"Yes?" He can barely contain himself and the look on the other's face isn't helping.

"Is this…like her?" Light turns his head so he's not looking at him. "You said you have no choice when she…she makes you. So is this like what she does?"

Wordlessly, L runs a finger down the golden face. It marvels him how this face is so very familiar and so very different all at the same time. The traces of baby fat are gone, now replaced by a stronger jaw and cheekbones. He is still clean-shaven, as always, but L remembers feeling stubble once. He didn't have a cigarette then. "No."

"What?" Light looks at him, confused.

"I have no choice but to come here, I can't lie. But with her…it's different. She forces me, her whims and wants are what I have to satisfy. Sometimes I can fight her and she knows it, and doesn't make me do anything."

"But you still…you still…"

"That's how it is," L holds his gaze, clasping his face, "that's how it works. But hers is just a fantasy, Light. I can't satisfy her even if I tried."

"Why can't you?" It is an accusation. "If you did, maybe she'd leave you alone."

"No, it's not…it's not about me, not completely."

"She wants you."

"Yes."

"So how isn't it about you?"

"She wants you, as well."

"What? Me? Why me if she has you?"

"Don't you see yet, Kira? You have me."

Light pushes him off and sits up. "Don't fuck with me, _Lawliet_. I'm not Misa, remember? I don't take your bullshit as easily as you'd like."

"Misa is more than you give her credit for."

"Oh, now you're defending her?"

L turns onto his side, propping his elbow up, his head in his hand. He reaches out to touch Light but the other flinches so the detective withdraws. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous."

Light sighs and lies back, allowing the detective to pull him into his hold. "Good thing you know better."

"You have me, Light. She doesn't, not like you do. Isn't that enough?"

"I don't know. Is it?"

"Let me show you."

"Wait." Light gasps, feeling the pale hands roaming, spider-like. In the midst of his hormonal driven frenzy, it sounds like 'cake'.

L laughs loudly, freely, for the first time in a long while. He nips at the strong, broad shoulders, teasing. "You taste better than any _cake_, Light-kun," he purrs, knowing the honorarium infuriates and excites Kira more than anything. And he works his way down, nipping and teasing at the skin, smooth, toned. He sees the 'cake' and claims his prize.

* * *

He sees only white, feels only a salty kiss ensnaring his tongue, then darkness. He opens his eyes. The room is dark, the fan is turning slowly and she is lying beside him, breathing steadily.

"Nightmare?" Ryuk chuckles, floating across the room, munching on an apple.

"No, nothing close," he replies, smiling and turning away from him.

The shinigami grunts, bored at the prospect of not being able to torment the man. "Huh. Okay, good night."

"Good night, Ryuk."

* * *

**A/N:** Two chapters in one day – holy smokes! Since I have this story planned out, chapters will be posted quickly. I'm planning 7 or 8 chapters but things could change. Please review!

Cheers,

_**elomelo**_


	3. discovery

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note in any way shape or form.

**A/N:** Believe it or not, there is plot structure in this story but with a few twists and turns. Just read on. Enjoy. (:

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**r e d**

**3. discovery**

She hears his stifled gasp and Ryuk asking him something. He replies, gentler than he usually he is with his apple-addicted pet god, and relaxes into the soft mattress, sighing into his pillow and pulling the sheets closer around him. She hates him in this moment, knowing when morning comes the façade will continue. It's a part of his clockwork, making Kira tick like the irreversible time bomb he is. She wishes he would explode but takes it back almost immediately. Kira. _Her_ Kira. If he died…no, she won't think about it. She winds her arms around his waist, pressing against him, holding every inch of him as close as she can. He murmurs something softly, his arms slipping around her. She feels the strong muscles in his bare arms even when he's relaxed. So vulnerable. _I could just slip a knife under my night gown and…and…. _She hugs him tighter, praying so hard for the voices to leave her. At least while she's awake.

"Please, Light, just make it stop…please Light, please," she whispers against his chest, holding back the tears because they'd break the spell she has over him. When he's like this.

"Alright, it's alright," he whispers back, stroking her hair, "I'll never let anything happen to you. I've hurt you too many times. I'm sorry, you know that, don't you? Don't you, Ryuzaki?"

She doesn't reply because he's not asking her. She just holds him close and lets him hold her as if she pale as paper with hair as dark as the night that envelops the room.

Ryuk watches the blonde and brunette sleep. 'Now that's some of that high class entertainment only Light can provide.' He snickers. His eyes are glowing red embers as are their names floating above their heads. This isn't exactly your daily occurrence and sure as hell beats eating an apple in the dark. He doesn't care much for love or sex or the other silly things human take so seriously, he doesn't really understand it. But he does know the thing between Misa Amane and Light Yagami isn't love but more of the opposite emotion.

"Humans are so interesting," he chuckles out loud, stretching his arms. He thinks he should get out more, fly around the city, maybe. He chuckles again, softer as not to wake his two favourite humans. (Scratch that. Favourite _human_. Misa's just the sideshow, really.)

He's seen Tokyo a thousand times, seen it now and then and before it was 'Tokyo'. Names – it amuses him how these are one of those little things human hold onto. To label everything like food and objects. Quillish Wammy. L Lawliet. Look how they ended up. His fingers itch to put the final name down. Light is his favourite human, without a doubt – he is so entertaining most of the time. But like any toy, Ryuk will soon bore of him and find something else.

As a god of death, Ryuk knows quite a lot about a variety of things. Living for eons and watching the world go by, names and faces and other menial things stop mattering but he's picked up a few things here and there and everywhere. When he adds them up, it's a bundle or two. But he doesn't carry any burden like most people with knowledge. That's because he's not human and unlike Rem, stupid stupid Rem, humans don't matter. They will die for each one day and fight to the death the next. They love, hate, need, want, want, want. A hunger that is never satisfied.

'Like me and apples. Huh. Whatever.'

Light's a smart kid, plays his cards rights with a strong hand and a trump card under the sleeve, just in case. But something tells Ryuk that the dreams that plague the usually quite nights of the Yagami-Amane household are more than boy wonder lets on.

"Ngh…Ryu…zaki…." Light pulls away from Misa, to attend to 'other matters'.

The god of death suppresses a roar of laughter and decides he will question Light later. The kid needs his privacy after all. Besides, there's a big red juicy apple in the kitchen just _calling_ his name.

* * *

Weak yellow-white light streams in through the slits of the half-closed blinds, forming pale striped slivers on Misa's face like prison bars. She lies on her back, the sheets a tangled mess, her blonde hair spilt around her head.

The white ceiling, the red walls, the black furniture. It seems like yesterday; Light and her at the store, picking out everything, holding hands as the men bought everything in and even after they had left, surprising her and pulling her into the freshly made bed. He had kissed her. Softly, like he didn't want her to break, his fingers soft under her shirt. That night they 'christened' the bed, as Nori would say in a schoolgirl's giggle.

She giggles now, Misa, to herself more than anything, running her fingers across the sheets. No, these are different sheets than that night but the memory is still there, lingering like the scent after, the same scent she had grown accustomed to when she walked by _their_ room.

Not that she had made a habit of walking past that room after she'd seen all she had needed to see. Before that day or rather, before that night, she liked to secretly walk down the corridor and sneak a glance at her beloved Light. The cameras were rolling and she knew she was being watched but he was her boyfriend. She was _allowed_ to see him, wasn't she? And it wasn't really interfering with the investigation, after all. And Ryuzaki knew, always knew. Most often that not he was awake – probably all that sugar – and was forever tapping away at his laptop, sitting on the bed beside her Light. The chain was not too loose or too strained; he kept his hands and sweet to himself. She had to open the door before but he kept it open slightly, so she could see Light and he, the detective, could keep an eye on her. He never looked at her or acknowledged her when she looked so she figured it was alright with him. Just a girlfriend checking up on her boyfriend.

It was some sort of a truce, she supposed. Ryuzaki never questioned her about it, neither asking about her rather obsessive ways with her boyfriend or the need to _use the washroom down the hall _when one was attached to her room. And he never told Light.

But that was before that night. It was an ordinary night; Misa had to 'relieve herself' (as the detective would crudely point out, correcting her impolite words without hesitation) and she was particularly missing Light. She pulled a bathrobe over her short nightgown – she wasn't quite sure of Ryuzaki's status as pervert, in her standards – and padded down the corridor, towards the bathroom. Just as she reached the door of the room shared by Light and Ryuzaki, she noticed something odd. It was shut. She figured Ryuzaki had forgotten about it so she turned the knob and slowly opened it, careful not to make any noise. What she saw next was something she would regret and treasure for the rest of her life.

Light was asleep, that much was the same. Except it really wasn't; unlike his usual arm-under-head posture, he was curled up. And around Ryuzaki, his arm thrown over his waist, his face just inches from the other's. The blanket covered them both, waist down but they were clearly undressed. Ryuzaki's eyes were also closed and his breathing was a steady in-out. His fingers were tangled in Light's hair and his usually pale skin was a shade warmer.

The air, once so sterile and clean, smelt of sweat and vanilla and sandalwood and sex.

Misa didn't know what was worse – the smell of the room or the expression on his face. It was one she'd never seen before, one she longed to put on his his face once they were out of this crazy mess Kira had started. She swore he was glowing, lips slightly parted, a beautiful golden glow. (Now, looking back, she laughs at herself for being so childish – it was just the fucking lights.)

She could've cried out or pried those hands off him. Instead, she shut the door quietly, turned on her heel and walked to the bathroom, calmly shutting the door behind her and locking it. She put the toilet seat down and sat on the cool plastic, crossing her legs and placing her head in her hands, something she had done the day she came home to find it strangely dark and the bodies on the floor. '_So much blood.'_

There was no blood this time. Only bodies, living, breathing bodies. She knew something beneath her bubbly exterior had snapped. Not because she had seen her boyfriend and his betrayal so damn clearly spelled out for her. But because she only had eyes for the man he'd fucked.

* * *

"Are you okay?" His eyes don't meet hers. Of course they don't, he's driving. She feels very small.

She's happy for his concern, sincere or not, and squeezes his hand quickly. "I'm great, just a bit tired. Bad dreams." She adds quietly, pulling away her hand and looking away from his hardening face. She thinks she's getting better at these white lies but damn, she does look tired or at least in the mirror. _**THINGS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR.**_

"Oh, I see," he says neutrally, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Fuck, traffic is horrible nowadays, huh?" she smiles stupidly when another idiot honks and they don't really go anywhere. "I'm going to be late and you know how Gregorio is when I'm late. He says fashionably late doesn't cut it, even for the gorgeous ones. Funny saying, isn't it? Anyway, that's just Gregorio. He's making us – me and the other girls, I mean – dress up like Santa's elves. But like sexy ones, with the tights and the striped plastic candy canes. That's Gregorio." She's babbling. The windows are open but she feels like the air is running out.

He laughs stiffly. "Yeah." He doesn't bother to pretend to be interested in the photo shoot he's driving her to. The cars have started to move.

* * *

Ryuk hates being stuck in that damn car so he takes to the skies, to stretch out his wings a bit. He'd kill for an apple. Ah, well, he muses, Light had a bowlful waiting for me on his desk.

He still hasn't asked the boy anything. Not yet. Ryuk's impatient but something tells him he shouldn't bring it up while Misa and Light sit in that car, sounding less and less like a couple should. No matter how old Light gets, Ryuk will always see him as 'the boy'. It just suits him, really, thinks the shinigami.

'Fuck, I'd really kill for an apple.'

He feels the dark eyes on him from the bustling sidewalk and takes a quick glance back as he follows Light's car forward. He could pretend he never saw the man with dark hair and the fucked up posture and the lack of red numbers over his head but that would be no fun, now would it?

* * *

**A/N:** Woot, a longer chapter – I'm proud of this one and I'm sure it makes much more sense now, the story.

Reviews are unbelievably helpful, both in improving this story and my writing, and just inspiring me to continue on providing you with this story. So go ahead and tell me what you think. It makes my day.

Cheers,

_**elomelo**_


	4. man in black

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note in any way shape or form.

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! I've been a little caught up with school and life and all those silly thing that keep teens busy but here you go.

And so our story continues. What fate lies ahead for our heroes? Or villains. :D

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**r e d**

**4. man in black**

A sticky heat settles over the city as Misa chirps into the phone, reminding him not to forget. Forget? Forget what? Oh, yes, how _could_ he forget? This Gregorio of hers graciously provided them with two tickets to tonight's screening of _Twisted_, only the newest horror-romance film, of course.

Misa-Misa reminds him that it's the only time he has for her anyway. The bitterness in her voice is evident but he doesn't care for it, not anymore.

'Great. Just fucking great.' He doesn't vocalize his thoughts as he snaps the phone shut and pushes past the shuffling people, to the elevator.

"Light-kun!" An eager Matsuda grins at him and he regrets it when the door slides close. Really, the man could break his face with a smile like that. If only.

"Matsuda-san," he replies without the same vigor, "good morning." He wishes he bought a cup of coffee or even an iPod. At least, besides the two of them, the elevator is empty. No obliged formalities without curious onlookers.

A silence falls between them, filling in the cracks. Light finds a sudden interest in the lights that travel up the numbers of the floors. Matsuda's smile falters slightly. Maybe there is hope.

Matsuda coughs once, then twice.

Or not.

"Doughnut?" He tries again to rekindle the conversation, holding the pink box out. A truce. "There's cinnamon." He adds, nodding somberly, as if it changes everything.

Suddenly, Light feels very nauseous. His fingers clutch the handle of his suitcase tighter. "I'm allergic to cinnamon." 'It's my favourite, actually. But I'm not in a particularly good mood so if you would kindly get the fuck out of my face'.

"Oh. I thought--"

"Well you thought wrong then." He would've regretted the words if he were back in the time where every uttered word could change the game in more ways than one. But times change and so do people.

Or it's just time. The people are just forced into the flow.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." Matsuda seems to pick up on the tension but the fool, of course, can't seem to keep the words from coming. They seem to be crammed into his mouth and he can't help but spew them out like water from a busted pipe. Anyone he comes across becomes a bottle to pour himself into. And there aren't many bottles than care to hold much, if any. "I mean, back when we were doing the Kira investigation with Ryuzaki, you always ate the cinnamon ones. So I thought…."

Light sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes momentarily. Snapping at Matsuda already. It's not going to be an easy day. He opens his mouth, to say something that's not quite an apology for his rudeness.

But the elevator comes to a sudden halt and the lights go out. There's no emergency light. Only darkness. A suffocating shroud.

"Not the elevator too!" It's a rare thing when Matsuda's words of wisdom voice the thoughts of those around him. The moment is cut short when he swings his arm blindly, hitting Light across the face with his suitcase, catching him right in the nose.

"Augh!" Light falls backward and hits his head off the mirrored back wall. He feels like his head has split in two. There are white splotches of light like after a camera takes a picture. "Matsuda I'm going to kill you." It's a hoarse whisper, more pain than a promise of it. His face is throbbing and something warm and wet trickles down his lips. It tastes sharp and metallic and raw.

Matsuda is oddly silent. Light opens his eyes but the dull pain makes his eyes water so he settles on closing them. He hears shuffling, movement. Then a small thud of knees hitting the carpeted floor. "Matsuda?"

There is no spoken reply. Hands grasp his shoulders. He can feel their chill through the suit and shirt. He opens his mouth, to protest against the numb feeling spreading through him. And suddenly, he feels soft lips against his own and tastes his own blood as a hungry tongue forces entry into his mouth. But that's not all. There's a slight hint of…smoke. Cigarette smoke. And something sweet – cake? It's all too familiar. Fingers, spider-like, pull the tie off. Unbuttoning. The lips stop moving – he feels them curving, smiling against his own – then they pull back. (Without thinking, he leans forward. More. More.) He gasps; the fingers dig painfully into his shoulders. Teeth, sharp, nip at his neck. Then lips press against the jugular and begin to suck slowly, then faster. He thrusts involuntarily, hips bucking, but the fingers, digging, hold him back. The mouth on his neck stops abruptly. He feels the hot breath on his skin for a few moments.

"_Heaven won't take us, hell can't take us. Where to go, Light?" _

English. With a British accent.

Then nothing.

* * *

He wakes up to stark white lights and dull throbbing in more than one place. Big desk. Shiny floor. He's in his office, on the loveseat the secretary bought in a week ago, his suit a makeshift blanket. He tries to sit up but the room spins and hands push him back down. They are warm. Not the ones from before.

"It's alright, Yagami-san." The voice is soft, gentle, female. "You took a nasty bump to the head but you're going to be fine. I'm the new office nurse. Wow, the head man my first patient – I'm still trying to figure out if it's a good or bad thing." She winks a friendly wink.

"You're not Japanese," he says, noting her accent and authentic-looking blonde hair.

She laughs a laugh that doesn't suit the room. Loud. Bright. Real. "Yes, I used to live in Canada but moved here five years ago. My boyfriend tells me I speak like a native but you can never be sure with him."

"Can I get pills or something for this headache?"

"Ah, yeah, sure. I'm going to step out for a bit and get some, alright?"

He feels like a child being tended to. "Okay. Hurry." He adds, placing his fingers on his temple and feeling the bandage.

The door opens and a nervous-looking Matsuda pops his head in. When he sees Light is awake, he tries to shut the door but Lara already has her hand on the knob and pulls it open wider. "Matsuda-san, there you are." Her voice is still soft and unnervingly soothing but there a slight accusing edge to it.

"Y-yeah," he smiles, unsure. "How are you doing, Light-kun?" He calls over Lara's shoulder.

"Great. Considering I feel like my head is going to explode."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to panic but you know, it was dark and, and…" He looks at Lara for support.

She chuckles lightly, shaking her head, and pushes past him into the hall. "Let the man rest while I show where the painkillers are, okay?" They leave the room, the door shutting loudly behind them.

"Sorry!" Matsuda yells from the hall.

Light sighs for what feels like the hundredth time and lies in the rare moment of silence he has. Except his mind is racing, back and forth, reliving those two or three moments over and over again like Misa's pop cd's on loop. Cold hands, smiling lips against his own. He'd recognize them anywhere, even now when they are only part of sleeping moments and dreams he wishes he could stop holding on to. Maybe it was just another dream, he muses grimly. A bonk of the head could do wonders to a person's mind after all. But the sweet cigarette-smoke lingers in his mouth like an aftermath of a battle, slowly clearing but there still the same.

And he's pretty sure that's something he's not going to share with Lara, the office nurse, anytime soon.

As he drifts out into an uneasy sea of sleep, he doesn't realize said office nurse has left his shirt unbuttoned. The skin of his neck, red and marked for the world to see.

* * *

Knock, knock.

Silence.

Knock, knock.

Sigh. "Come in. It's open."

She enters the room, stumbling slightly on the carpet that's caught in the door. He steadies her, grabbing her arm before she falls face first (he pretends he doesn't feel her breath quicken at his contact or the third button undone on her blouse). He half-smiles. It's all he can muster after the short nap and the throbbing that has yet to leave him, despite the three painkillers.

"I'm sorry, sir," she sees his unusually unkempt hair, sticking up every which way over the patch of bandage on his forehead, "Matsuda-san told me you weren't feeling well, after the…accident." She says the word quickly like a dirty secret.

Stacy or Lucy or something like that, her name. Another foreign secretary with the accent that borders somewhere between somewhat cute and fucking irritating. Since day once she's had a girlish crush on him or at least giving him enough signals to believe so. And like the proper gentleman he is, he ignores said signals and instead gives his own signals. The 'I have a girlfriend, thanks' signal.

She leans forward suddenly, overtly glossy lips to close too his face, to say something –

The buzzer goes off. Beep! Cue the lobby secretary. Her high-pitched voice crackles through the static, "Mr. Yagami, someone here to see you by the name of Lawliet."

* * *

**A/N:** Just a note – "spoken"; 'thought'.

Yeah, the chapters are getting longer – a good sign, perhaps?

Love it? Hate it? Can't decide? Let me know – all it takes is the purple button!

Cheers,

_**elomelo**_


	5. crescendo

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note in any way shape or form.

* * *

**r e d**

**5. crescendo **

"Honestly, that bitch," the girl, barely nineteen, puffs air through her teeth before taking another drag of her cigarette. She shifts her feet, the three inch heels scraping the concrete, not completely ignoring the man at the bus stop. She doesn't blame him or his eyes, taking in the too-short skirt and garters. "I'm not saying the whole bubbly Goth thing doesn't work for her – 'cause it does - but she leaves work just like that." She snaps for the effect. "Feeling tired or some other bullshit, lack of sleep."

The other girl tugs on her red wig and watches the smoke drift up into the darkening skies overhead before she speaks. "Yeah?" She glances furtively at the man, then at Mimi. "Damn, this thing is so itchy."

"Stop pulling it, stupid. You never see her complaining, do you? Uh-uh. Never." She flicks the ashes.

"I thought you said she's a bitch." She stops anyway.

"Still…little Miss Perfect - Gregorio's fucking pet. I tell you that man has it in for her."

"What? He's gay!"

"You can never tell nowadays. Tight pants and a lisp could just be a way to get into the market, I heard all the fashion designers do it." She crushes the cancer stick swiftly and throws it into a nearby bush. "You see the way he looks at her."

Mameha pulls her skirt down; feeling overtly exposed which is new for her. It doesn't do anything, draws more attention to her. She feels the warmth of eyes passing over her skin. And she notices Mimi's started with the glances. It sends a blooming of heat through her chest, a mixture of triumph and bitterness. "But doesn't she have a boyfriend?"

"Chief of police and he's gorgeous! Came here only once but wow, I'd love to see that ass up-close." They laugh too loudly. "But really, the guy's amazing – heard he was part of the Kira investigation even before he got in with the police. And those arms…imagine coming home to that every night!"

"Lucky bitch," Mameha offers with gusto.

"I know, right? I don't get it. Perfect boyfriend, got every man – even the gay ones – after her ass. And now she's at home having him in every which way while we're stuck here in this shit. It's like we're stuck in some fucked up Cinderella story and we're the stepsisters." She pauses, musing about writing some of this down.

The bus arrives and the man gets on. Mameha watches the ad-plastered thing rumble away, leaving behind smoke and a sinking, putrid feeling. The warmth in her chest is gone. "Maybe you're right, about the Gregorio thing. Let go inside – I'm freezing."

* * *

A series of thorns lodge themselves in his throat. He vaguely remembers mumbling some sort of agreement before he stumbles a few paces and finds himself at the windows, fingers splayed across the warm glass, breathing haggard, head bowed. The thorns are shifting, lacing themselves between the flesh of his stomach and chest. Stacy or Lucy, whatever her name, says something about getting him coffee and some of those painkillers, and hurries out of the room.

Ryuk bursts out into his raucous peals of laughter before taking a bite of his apple. _Only a matter of time, huh, Light?_ He laughs again, quieter this time so it's more of a chuckle. He wonders how Boy Wonder will pull himself out of this one.

* * *

She rushes past the buzzing workers, allowing the hiss of curse words and glares pass, ignoring them and everything else, mind set on getting to the medicine cabinets on the third floor. So she doesn't notice the man coming off the elevator until she bumps into him and sends him flying to the nearest wall.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry!" She holds out a hand to help him up. "Are you alright?"

His dark head bobs, accepting her apology and answering her all at the same time, but the man gets to his feet on his own. Loose black shirt, baggy jeans, ratty sneakers. No socks, she notices with a mixture of disgust and peaked curiousity. His features seem European, angular, pale, and his lips jut out slightly in a permanent pout. Dark eyes, rimmed with many a sleepless night, glance at her sideways. He jams his hands in his pockets and begins to slouch away.

"Wait, sir, are you sure you're alright?" she says, in the twanged Japanese she is able, pushing back her hair. Something about his presence makes her extremely self-conscious, even with his scrutinizing eyes turned away from her.

"I am fine, thank you." He pauses to take one of his feet out of the sneakers and scratch his leg through the denim. Ignoring her obvious look of disgust, he clears his throat and leans sideways to see down the hall. "Perhaps you could direct me to Mr. Yagami's office?"

She blinks. Aside the mangy owlish look, he could've passed for a socialite, albeit the slight accent.

He clears his throat again, though this time with exaggeration, for her attention. "He is a good friend of mine and I would like to see him. I heard he was in an accident." A strange look passes over his face. She swears she sees a ghost of a smirk.

"Oh, uh, yes, it's the door down the hall to your left." She wonders why he didn't bring flowers or some sort of trinket for his 'good friend', accident and all. Then she supposes men don't do things like that for each other, too manly and whatnot.

"Ah, thank you." He nods vigorously, making her slightly seasick. She grimaces, wishing she could donate a hairbrush to the poor soul. "You were very helpful." As he walks away, he says too-loudly, "Please do hurry, the man can be very irritable without his pills." Something in his tone tells her she should take her damn sweet time getting said pills, perhaps the chill in the otherwise monotone.

She takes the stairs and buttons up the pink blouse, all the while thinking when she'd let the part about the pills slip.

* * *

He doesn't knock and shuts the door a bit too loudly, observing the shudder of pain it sends through the other man standing at the window. It makes him smirk, pleased. "I'm here."

"I know," Light's voice is raspy, quiet. The sunlight streaming in through the windows on which his fingers are splayed –a drowning man grasping the last of hope – envelops him a yellow haze. An angel undone by the black book sitting in the suitcase on the table.

"Do you know?" L challenges, feeling the anger and excitement course between them like unsaid broken promises. He walks towards the brunette. "Why don't you face me, coward, if you know? Prove yourself, prove _me_."

"I don't need to prove anything."

"Oh but you do, Kira, and you have, haven't you?" His hands in his pocket, balled into tight fists. "Look at me, Kira. Not at Ryuzaki but at L. Look at me. Look at me! Can you see me, Kira? Well? Can you?"

"I—I don't know anymore, Ryuzaki…I just…." His words are cut off by pale fingers clutching at the collar of his shirt, tightening, choking him. He tries to pry them off but the man holds steadfast.

"Now I am L, _only_ L, do you understand? Do you, Kira?" He squeezes harder. His words are venom, barely a hiss. "Names. Everything, aren't they? Life, death, every last thing. L Lawliet. Quillish Wammy." He takes a sharp breath, loosening his hold. "Nate Rivers." Another sharp breath, lips trembling. "Miheal Keehl. Mail Jeevas. Do they mean _anything_ to you, Kira?" He lets go, pushing him away.

Light falls to the ground, clutching his bruising neck, gasping for air. L watches him with a mild expression, like one would a semi-interesting reality show. Then he daintily slips one bare foot out of its untied sneaker and presses it against Light's chest, soft at first, the harder, watching as the other writhes under the quite literal pressure.

"Answer the question, Kira."

"W-which q-question?'

"Do they mean anything to you, the names?" His tone is gentler, nevertheless with the air of a threat if not answered. "Answer, Kira." He grinds his heel in.

Light hisses. "Wammy's House. Your heirs when you – when you died."

"You killed them."

"I didn't kill them!"

"Now, now, we wouldn't want the others hearing our little heart-to-heart." More pressure.

"I didn't – I didn't…Misa, it was Misa. She wrote down their names. But I found the information, the hidden files. I won, Lawliet." Even in pain, Kira is vehement.

L crouches down, the one foot still pressing against the chest of the murderer. His pallid fingers, spidery, fluidly unbutton the remaining on Light's shirt.

"W-what are you doing?" Panic and fascination.

The detective doesn't answer. Simply lifts the index finger of his right hand, holding it in front of the other's face momentarily, before descending it upon the taut skin of Light's stomach. The man writhes beneath him at the chilling touch.

"We dead are quite the cold ones," says the dark haired man before swiftly grabbing a handful of the brown hair he can't seem to get over and smash his lips against the chapped ones of the other man's.

Light hisses into L's mouth, feeling teeth scrape against his tongue and draw blood. He returns the favour, tilting his head forward for better access. He likes this, the rawness of L's mouth. Except the detective doesn't hiss in pain; he seems to be enjoying it, the sadistic metallic taste in their mouths, mingling.

A sudden sense of languidness washes over Light; his head falls onto the floor with an unpleasant thump. His eyes seem so heavy, so…heavy…. Those dark eyes over him, searching his face with a mixture of satisfaction and concern. He feels the man's heavy breath on his face, so warm, before he fades.

* * *

The death god is laughing so hard, he's afraid he just might burst. He doesn't dare take an apple with the other man there. So he contents himself with banging the floor with his ringed fingers. The rise and fall of his maniacal laughter makes the dark haired freak look up from the unconscious Light.

* * *

She shuts the door quietly as not to give herself away. The small plastic container falls to the ground beside her. Some of the pills roll under the door.

* * *

She shuts the door loudly. The echo fades into the desolation of the apartment. She shrugs, clucking her tongue, and pulls her bathrobe around herself tightly. Because it reminds her of the marks on his back when he puts on his shirt in the morning. Or just the lack of hers as she chooses an outfit for tonight's show.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone for all the great reviews – especially Endless Snow and Mirthal Dragon; you really lift my spirits despite the small audience this story seems to draw.

Cheers,

_**elomelo**_


	6. vagrant

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note in any way shape or form.

**A/N:** This chapter was written over a course of about two weeks. Okay, mostly two days but hey, who's counting? Listening to 'Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too' by Say Anything whilst writing this portion of **red**. xD Well, enjoy.

* * *

**r e d**

**6. vagrant **

She runs her fingers across the dresses. They're all in one closet, these dresses, something she was surprised she didn't have to beg Light for. He recommended it, actually. As if there weren't enough barriers between them.

She pushes deeper into the closet until her damp fingers find the black fabric. Something Gregorio had given her as a 'present' a week ago, ushering her into the costume department with a finger to his quirked lips. If Mameha or the others heard about this, the press would find out in a blink of an eye. Not that they haven't started suspecting anything.

Her throat clogs suddenly, the words stuck like the fan last week. Unlike then, Light can't fix it. She tries to push the memory of two days ago into the back of her mind like the cocktail dress to the closet. Somehow the dress ends up on the bed, still sheathed in its transparent cocoon, whilst she sinks to the floor, face held to her hand. The tears are torrents, running between her fingers and onto the silk of her bathrobe, then the carpet. Salty rivers pressing insistently against her lips. Eyes widened in the semi-darkness, red without the contacts.

A few minutes pass with only her silent sobs and the whirring of the fan. She wipes her face hastily and gets to her feet; chin raised up though Light isn't here for the show.

She shakes her head, fervently, sending water and remnants of conditioner onto the mirror. Her reflection is one of pseudo confidence, the numbers above her head a red blur. The plunge of the robe's neckline caresses her ego.

She did it for the dress. Gregorio knew she had her eyes on it. All things have a price, after all.

His skin was oily and blotched, stomach protruding over the angry mark of the tight waistband of his jeans, and his fingers fumbled. Inexperienced, nervous. So unlike the skilled fingers and golden taut of the stomach pressed again her when those lips kissed her. But those nights seemed so long ago and she didn't have to pretend she didn't enjoy it with the oily skin moved against her own, sweat-glossed.

Besides, she's been on the pill for years now. Light hates children.

* * *

She nearly falls over when the door opens. The dark haired man steps out, expression blank and nonchalant, as if the brunette's arms and legs weren't thrown over him like a towel only moments ago. Though his left arm is wound around said brunette's back with a concern most don't have for ordinary toiletries.

His dark eyes meet her. She feels like she's drowning in the obsidian pools.

"He will be alright," he says before she can speak, "He's just feeling a bit under the weather. You understand, don't you? He can't stay here – I will take him home so he can rest."

"Y-yes." She looks at the floor. She wonders if he can hear her heart ready to explode.

He walks to the elevator and momentarily takes his hand away from the brunette to press the button. When he notices she's following him, he simply places the support against the man again.

"You're very beautiful." He doesn't look at her, only at the numbers above the doors.

She looks up, eyes wide. "But then why--"

"Things don't always work out the way we want them because of the circumstances."

"You're hideous." She can't help it when the words come out. She wants him to falter, to break. She wants to hear the crack.

But there's no crack, not event a dent. He tilts his head slightly so his lips can brush against the unconscious brunette's face. His smirk disappears when the elevator doors shut.

She lets out a breath she doesn't remember holding. Her legs seem to be moving on their own accord.

She finds herself in the ladies room, panting heavily against the cold wall. A woman from narcotics helps her to her feet, giving her a paper towel and a worried raise of thick eyebrows. Ringo's half her height with short dark hair, sans makeup save for the blue eyeliner. Her burgundy dress shirt hugs her body like a glove as do the dark jeans. A single eyebrow ring glimmers in the dim lighting. She's quite the character, only recently transferred from her post another country. With Kira on the prowl and the dropping criminal rate, it's a wonder she's even needed.

"It's the stress." Stacy walks calmly to the sink and washes her hands absently, all the while looking anywhere else but the mirror. Her heart is hammering like thunder and the younger woman's skeptic expression just angers her more.

Ringo folds her short arms, thick eyebrows raised over thickly-rimmed glasses. "You sure you're okay?"

"Oh yeah, just peachy."

"Uh-huh."

"What's with the sarcasm? It's not like I'm asking you for help."

"You could barely get up a few seconds ago."

"And?"

"I was just trying to help. Sheesh."

"Well mind your own business. Do you see me offering advice on your recent breakup with that lesbian girlfriend of yours?"

Ringo makes twice her salary, more if she really thinks about it, yet she eats lunch with her despite the obvious difference in position and status. She's the closest thing to a friend she's made in the last three months.

She doesn't roll her eyes or give her the middle finger salute; just calmly leans against the adjacent sink and looks wistfully at the bathroom stall doors. They're festooned with smudged numbers and scratches and two-minute solutions to a festering sex life. "Jeez, this is too highschool," she gestures at said doors with a black nail adorned hand.

"I'm sorry. About the…your girlfriend. Really. I'm not homophobic or anything but…."

"Eh?"

"What?"

"You have a funny look. Let me guess."

"Guess what? Nothing happened."

"Denial." She cocked her head slightly, placing her hand under her chin. "Ah, got it!"

"You're pursuing nothing."

"First thing, you're Japanese sucks more than usual when you're lying. Second, you are so in denial. You walked in on them, didn't you?"

Stacy gasps, half-expecting her heart to leap out of her throat and flop its way around on the wet floor.

"See?"

"It's the water. Fucking freezing." She turns off the tap.

"Don't be all innocent about it, Stacy. I have a _gaydar_." She adds the last English word in a strange accent.

"A _what_?"

"A gaydar. And it's telling me you walked in on a little one-on-one time between the head honcho and his beau. I knew the guy was into dudes since the first time he walked in here. Didn't even look at any of the chicks."

"You're being stupid. Yagami-san isn't gay."

"I thought Yuki was and she ended up with her second cousin didn't she. Tanka or some shit like that."

"Ringo, I'm sorry I said that--"

"Nah, it's okay, you didn't mean it. Actually, you were more interested in the whole thing that the other gals anyway."

She manages a weak smile though she grips the sides of the sink to keep her balance. "Yeah?"

"Ah-ah, you're not getting off the hook for this one, Stacy. I saw the dude get into the elevator with his 'prize'. The whole thing. He's got some nerve. Then again, he did have the whole hobo look going quite nicely."

"You saw?"

"Yeah. I was coming over to get some paperclips. I didn't hear anything, though."

"Huh?"

"Don't give me that look. The N.D.'s renowned for its lack of the little motherfuckers. Anyway, so I was like walking down the hall and I see you on the other end. You're like on the floor and there's all these pills everywhere, and I was like, fuck no, Stacy. Then again, I heard about the accident in the morning so I kinda shrugged it off and went into your desk."

"You what?"

"Ah, get used to it. You have the cutest cow sticky notes. Oh, and someone named Hoshi texted you. He wants his pants back. What a whore."

"Ringo!"

"You're _defending_ him?"

"He's a nice guy. Buys me flowers and kisses me goodnight."

"All that jazz, huh? Wonder what he'll think when he finds out it's Light Yagami you want. Too bad he's taken."

"He has a _girlfriend_."

"Correction. He has a _boyfriend_. Kind of…what's the word…_emo_, don't you think? I always thought Yagami-san would be into more of his kind?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know…smart, well-dressed, all pretty boy. And here he is being carried home by some street punk."

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Oh, my. You're not hitting on the other boy, are you?"

"You're being stupid."

"There's the smile I know and love. Cheer up, babe. You'll get over it like I did."

"No hard feelings about the lesbian comment?"

"Truth never hurt me. Besides, the single life is more my style. A relationship is too much of a commitment. Oh, fuck, I'm sounding like a self help book already. Come on, let's grab some lunch. My treat."

"I'm not on my break and Yagami-san--"

Suddenly, Ringo's cold hands are cupping her face, firmly, brown eyes almost red in the close proximity. Her jaw is rigid for a moment before she pressed her lips over Stacy's. The blonde tries to push off the shorter girl but an insistent tongue slipped through parted lips. Stacy feels her knees shaking, her head becoming strangely light and, and…. She braces herself and pushed hard, sending the other girl against the nearest wall. "What. The. Hell."

Ringo wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, half-smiling. "Sorry. Hungry."

"You're unbelievable." She turns to leave but the cold hand grabs her arm roughly.

"Stacy, wait. I'm sorry, really. It's just…since Yuki…I'm just…."

"I'm not a substitute."

"I know. I know."

"Look, I have nothing against your preferences and even if I was gay, I wouldn't take it any other way. I'm not a thing and I'm _not_ Yuki."

"Let me make it up to you. With lunch. I'll keep my hands to myself."

Stacy sighs, palming her forehead. Damn, she feels strange. Not the kind of strange someone should feel after a kiss but…she can't quite place it. A hollow feeling.

"Please, Stacy."

"Alright. You're paying."

"No problem. I assume I'm forgiven."

"Not until I see some of that credit card you flash around."

"Damn."

* * *

He wakes to a blinding white light. 'I'm dead. I've died and gone. They're probably picking up what's left of my body right now.'

"He lives," a rumbling chuckle from across the room makes him jump, "How do you feel, Light-kun?" The source of the voice comes from a dark corner of the room. The man sits there, knees drawn to his chest, on an antique-looking chair. Its aged and covered in plastic.

"L." His head hurts like hell but not as much as his throat, constricted. He needs air and keels over the edge of the bed, hands pressed to his lips.

"There's a bathroom down the hall to your right."

The room is small with a half-open window, the blinds rolled up all the way, letting in that god-awful shock of light. Yellowing wallpaper, a mug of wilted flowers, a Swiss Army Knife looking quite harmless on the bedside table. Light barely notices as sprints according to the given instructions. He finds himself choking up everything he had for breakfast into a grimy toilet bowl. There's a dead cockroach floating in the now porridge-like water when he stops. This triggers more retching but his stomach's emptied out.

"I think you're done now."

"Fuck you." It comes out in a raspy whisper. Pathetic. "Where are we?"

"A motel."

"A cheap motel."

"Yes."

"…so you're really dead or we'd be in some fancy hotel right now."

"Clean up. I'll put out some fresh clothes on the bed."

"I don't have--"

"I picked them up on the way here."

"From a _charity_?"

"Your ego's too big for your head, Light-kun."

"Fuck you."

"The shower water should be adequate for your twenty-something ritual. I'll get us lunch."

"I'm not hungry."

"You will eat if you want answers."

"_Fuck_ you."

"This broken record thing is quite becoming of you. Noodles it is." He shuts the door behind him.

Light flushes, watching the remnants of his breakfast swirl away into some septic tank. He feels dizzy and exhausted. He stays on the cold floor, head hung.

The door opens again. L wordlessly drops to his knees and pushes him into the opposite walls. In the same silence, he fiercely kisses him. He doesn't stop when Light weakly protests. The brunette's moan is lost in the ecstasy of a cold hand pressed against his manhood, through the fabric of his dress pants. It's almost as if time has reversed and the damp bathroom floor is one of white tiles and glimmering porcelain, and the man kissing him is alive, alive, alive….

"Urgh," Light manages to push the detective away and to his surprise, the dark haired man complies without struggle, "You're sick. You're fucking sick."

"Am I?" The detective looks at him, dark eyes smoldering his façade of nonchalance like the end of a cigarette.

They glare at each other. Water drips from the leaky bath faucet and a car brakes loudly outside the frosted window.

L's reflection is daunt and pale as ever in the mirror. "Clean up and we'll talk." He doesn't move, not even as Light reaches out, fingers outstretched hesitantly. He doesn't seem to breathing when their lips move against each other.

It's different this time. There's no urgency, no battle for dominance over the other. Only a slight pressure, movement in the place of words. Because they can't say certain things. It's against unwritten laws of a twisted nature in which Kira and the detective L are sworn enemies, grappling for the pedestal. Light Yagami and Ryuzaki are left behind in the dust, to wither into the nothingness from which began …they have no name for it. For what they have become, what they are on the cold tiled floor.

"We'll talk," L says, pulling back. His lips are set in a grim line but the flustered pink smudge of his cheeks tells a different story. He traces the strong jaw line of the other man. His fingers are frigid but Light leans into the ministrations, eyes closed, lips parted. He is so vulnerable; the detective can't help but hold himself back from taking him there and then. "We'll talk." He says it more firmly and leaves the room.

The door shuts loudly.

Light steps into the dusty bathtub and turns on the shower. The water is lukewarm, soaking through his clothes. He bites his lip so hard he tastes blood.

He feels alive.

* * *

"Excuse me? Miss?"

She looks up at the source of the noise. It's a short, stocky middle-aged woman with no fashion sense to speak of. Her hands are small, child-like, holding out the Styrofoam container.

"Your lunch. Noodles and meatballs, as you requested."

"Oh, yeah, thanks." Ringo nods absently, handing the woman the money and taking the box. She returns to the table where the other woman sits, smooth legs folded over one another, and takes a seat across from her.

"Well?" Stacy looks away from the window. Her blonde hair is put up in a messy bun, barely held together by a series of bobby pins and a single plastic clip. Her young face seems years older. "How about you?" she asks when the other woman places the box on the table in front of her.

"I had a cheeseburger at work," she replies with a shrug, "Now eat."

"You sure?"

"Stacy?"

"What?"

"Shut up. And eat."

Stacy rolls her eyes but opens the box and smiles in approval. She's on her fifth meatball when Ringo falls off her chair and screams. Not a quick shriek; a long, loud wail that makes everyone in the restaurant turn to look at her, eyes widened in confusion and the same horror as the short, dark-haired woman on the floor. "Ringo! Ringo, are you okay?" Stacy drops beside her and tries to put her hands on the woman's shoulders but she shakes it off. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"T-t-that!" She points at the window. Everyone's eyes follow.

"There's nothing there," says one bystander in a high-pitched voice, "maybe she's lost it."

"Shut up!" Stacy snaps. She turns her attention back to the still gaping Ringo. "Ringo, hey, Ringo, there's nothing there. You okay? Ringo? Ringo?"

But the woman's not looking at her but past her, over her shoulders, beyond the window. Where stands the tall winged creature with red eyes and a Cheshire Cat grin.

She is able only one word under her breath. Stacy hears it. "Ryuk."

* * *

**A/N:** I kept on rewriting parts of this chapter – urgh, that's the perfectionist in me. I'm too lazy to get around to fixing the 'errors' in the other chapters as someone pointed out (thank you, by the way :3) but will do. Soon. Oh, and I finally got to put in Ringo! She's my favourite OC so far – punkish with a knack for chicks and speaking sailor. Oh, and though she's Stacy's 'friend', she doesn't address her with the 'kun' honorific; she's much too informal for that and it just seemed weird for her to be respectful to anyone to that degree.

Should I get a beta? Thoughts on that? I've never had one and don't know much about them. I'm a picky person who likes my own work intact so…meh, I don't know.

Oh, yeah, please review or PM – whatever floats your boat. I'd love to hear what you think. )

Cheers,

_**elomelo**_

P.S. And I have a few stories in mind but am looking for interested authors to work with and/or 'bounce' ideas off with. So if you're interested, don't hesitate to message me.

P.P.S. Ringo means 'apple' in Japanese. I'll let you mull that one over.


	7. revelations

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note in any way shape or form.

**A/N:** This chapter was written while listening to 'Black Swan' by Thom Yorke, frontman of Radiohead. Trippy, _awesome_ song. Sets the mood for **red**. Uh, yeah, there'll be a playlist posted at the end for red – all the songs that moved me to write like how I do for this story. :S Yesh.

Oh, and warning, I guess, _**sex scene**_ in this chapter. Then again this story is rated M so…shrug

* * *

**r e d**

People get crushed like biscuit crumbs  
And laid down in the bed you made  
You have tried your best to please everyone  
But it just isn't happening  
No, it just isn't happening

And it's fucked up, fucked up  
And this is fucked up, fucked up  
This your blind spot, blind spot  
It should be obvious, but it's not.  
But it isn't, but it isn't

_**Black Swan - Thom Yorke**_

**7. revelations**

When L shuts the door, Light is sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing the window. The blinds are pulled down, letting in only slivers of gray light. He wears the loose shirt and sweatpants set out for him earlier.

"It's raining," the detective says too-loudly for the silence that settles on the room like dust on the second-hand furniture, "I bought you some fried rice. You'll be able to keep it down."

A few beats pass before the other answers. "How about you?" His voice is hoarse and low, directed towards the window.

"What about me?"

"Aren't you going to - ?"

"I don't need to eat unlike you, Light-kun."

"Not anymore? Not after…."

"My death? Precisely. Besides, I always did prefer sweeter things. Now – eat." He places the Styrofoam case on the table beside the bed and proceeds to pulling apart the wooden chopsticks that accompany it.

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care. If you want answers…" He trials off ominously. He can't help but grin bitterly when he manages to pull the chopsticks apart.

Light's turned to him now, legs still crossed, arms folded over his chest. A defense against the words that are to come of this, this meal, this room. The presence of the other man unsettles him; he feels as if he's standing on the edge of a cliff and the froth of the churning ocean below waits, to devour him, to wholly consume him yet provide him with a comfort he can't seek in his waking moments.

Except this is no dream. And neither are the soft hands that cup his face within their curves. The lips – oh, those lips, how he loathes them, how he… - move against his own with such familiarity it hurts.

The lips draw back as does their owner, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Eat," he says softly, gently brushing nonexistent dirt from the bronze face.

"Alright." He takes the offered box and chopsticks. "Talk."

"Eat."

Light makes a show of expertly snaring the noodles between the eating utensils and slurping them. The detective gives a small smile of approval and pulls the chair from the corner of the room to beside the bed, sitting on it in his usual perch-like manner. "What do you want to know?"

The younger man chews slowly. "Why are you here? That is if you really are here."

"Hmm? What makes you think I'm not?"

"I could be hallucinating."

"And why would you be doing that?"

"…it's been a crazy day." He looks down, feeling the colour flood to his cheeks like ink on paper. "The elevator."

"Oh, that." L smiles. "That. Well--"

"Why are you here?" He spits, venomous. "To haunt me? To chase me until I fucking die? Is that what you want?" He throws the food across the floor. He's on his feet now, grabbing the black fabric of a shirt that should have been white.

Their faces are inches away, breaths mingling. The calm before a storm.

"Is that what you think?"

He drops him, letting him fall back onto the chair. "I don't know what to think anymore. It just…I..."

"I made the deal."

"What?"

"With a shinigami."

Light blinks. Kira's shadow is not too far behind. "Ryuk," he whispers, noting the god in question isn't there, "But how…?"

"It wasn't Ryuk. He would do me no favours."

"I don't understand."

He pauses to gnaw on this thumb. "When I died – when Rem wrote my name down – she wasn't able to kill me."

"But – you were dead! Your pulse, I felt it and…and-"

"Yes, medically I was dead. My body died in your arms, Kira."

He nods, ignoring the sting of pain in his chest at the mention of the word.

"But I was alive all the same. Your subconscious or should I say _Kira's_ subconscious refused to let me go. Light Yagami's mind did not process my death."

"I don't…."

"The dreams. You never once found them strange? How _real_ they were?"

"I thought--"

"As I said before, I made a deal with a shinigami prior to my death. But it wasn't Ryuk. It was another shinigami."

"Who?"

"Ringo. She wasn't like the others – Rem or Ryuk. She was very different."

"How did you make the deal?"

"She offered. She knew the nature of our relationship. She was always there."

"Her note…."

"No, she doesn't have a notebook."

"Then why?"

"She doesn't need one. She's different – not like Ryuk or Rem or the other shinigami. She was…someone I knew."

Light shifts uneasily. "You knew her." The more-question-than-statement hangs in the air like a precarious knife.

"Yes. Or at least I used to. Before she died." He shakes his head. No, this isn't how he planned it. He gets off his chair and onto the bed, surprising its occupant. He ignores said occupant's surprised gasp as he links their fingers together and pushes him against the headboard. He places his lips at Light's ear, brushing against them as he whispers. "Do you remember that night? Before you killed me."

The brunette flushes.

"Answer me."

"Y-yes. I wasn't chained to you anymore but I came back anyway."

"I knew then. That you were Kira. As soon as you walked through that door with the box of chocolates."

"Did she tell you?"

"I made the deal. For the eyes. I couldn't see your lifespan."

"But you never…never said anything. You could've arrested me."

"No. I carried out the tests on the criminal on death row to test the fake rules. Watari advised against it but I was curious. I experimented and that's how I found Ringo. Or how she found me. Beyond Birthday' body disappeared from the morgue and Ringo contacted me soon after. I had tried writing his name in the note."

"That's sick. He was dead."

"Morbid. Sick. Twisted. Say what you will, it was necessity. I needed to see how it worked."

Light tries to pull away his fingers but the other holds in a steadfast grip, lips moving gently against his ears. He ignores the warm pain below, restraining the fire that has lit under L's knee. It's as if the detective's doing it on purpose, pressing against him.

"Oh, dear, would you like me to help you with that?" L notices, a small smirk playing against Light's ear.

"N-no, finish…."

Sharp teeth nip at the flesh.

"S-stop it."

"There's time to finish the story, Light-kun." Nip. "All the time in the world."

"Finish."

"Ringo _was_ Beyond Birthday. When you killed him, you released her form from him. He always had the eyes." He continues despite the other's confused frown. "He was the Backup for L. For me. BB. The copycat, with eyes. He was a shinigami in the shell of a human and gods of death cannot die. She came to me, knowing everything Beyond did, and offered me the eyes for half of my lifespan. I was to die that night you came for the last time but…I didn't. Beyond or what was left within Ringo, saved me. He gave me a second chance. To inhibit your dreams."

Light blinks. The room spins a bit. The lips are at his ear. "Then how are you here. Right now."

"I don't understand that, either. It seems...the bond between you and Misa."

"What?"

"It's what kept me in dreams and nothing more. She loved you."

"She wanted _you_."

"Yes, and she was part of the deal. To inhibit the dreams of those who wanted me, my presence. But Misa only wanted that part of me, the part that wanted _you_. Don't you see yet? It's you that ties her to me. She never loved me as she did you. And as of late, you've stopped living in the present, Light-kun. Your dreams – they're consuming you, consuming what's left between you and Misa. Soon enough, they'll consume you fully."

"I…what should I do?"

"What do you _want_ is the question."

"**You**."

The detective blinks in surprise, drawing back. Their fingers are still twined, like thorned vines. "You have me. For now."

"How do I know that?"

"When I kissed you, back at the office. I drew blood. Yours and mine."

"…"

"That's why you were unconscious. It's a sacrilegious bond of blood, of the living and the dead." Using his free hand, he lifts up the other's shirt. "See."

There is a square-shaped scar on the contoured chest. A single letter is engraved within it.

"L," breathes Light.

"As long as you have it, I am here."

"How about others?"

"They won't be able to recognize me. The bond is what ties us. It could break us just as easily."

"Break us. How?"

But L isn't listening. He presses his lithe frame against the other, fingers unbuttoning quickly. "The bond must be stronger."

"H-how?" Light bites his lip. His manhood is restrained, throbbing with an ache wishing to be fulfilled. He will not submit, he will not -

"Like this." Spidery fingers undo the strings of the sweatpants. He feels the anticipation building within the member, tracing its angry outline.

"Tease," hisses the brunette, nearly tearing the dark shirt off the detective's torso.

Their lips meet in angry passion, breaths laboured, sheets tousled, fingers gripping skin. The mattress creaks as jean-adorned legs straddle his bare chest. Cold and warm fingers work off menial clothing.

"N-no drawers?" manages a mounted Light in a rasp.

"Shh," the detective puts a finger to his lip before pushing himself into the younger man.

The brunette grits his teeth, feeling the hot flash of pain course through his lower body as the detective moves within him in a steady rhythm. The room seems to disappear. There are only dark eyes, half-lidded, watching his sweat-glossed face under black fringes. Light grips the other man's shoulders, silently pleading. _Don't…don't stop…almost._

Cold fingers – _why so cold in this heat_ – find his hardness. In the rocking sway, they squeeze. Chapped lips brush against his thigh. "Light-kun." A whisper.

Only a whisper sends him over the edge.

"Nngh," Light groans, throwing his head back, fingers sinking into pale flesh. Sticky warmth coats the sheets around him. The painful pleasure subsides. He closes his eyes as the darkness consumes his lips.

* * *

She hums along with the radio, smiling at the woman in the mirror. Her hair is piled, tastefully spun and golden. Her makeup is flawless as are the curves accentuated by the black silk.

The clock above the dresser reads just past six. The grey skies darken outside the window.

Light's not here yet. He must be waiting for her at the theatre.

Her smile is plastic. She continues humming as she leaves, locking the door behind her.

* * *

She leaves the store. Her breathing is surprisingly normal. Her fingers are stained red. She washed her hand three times in the bathroom sink but still they remain.

Ryuk watches her, grin omnipresent. She is a hideous shinigami, to resemble a human. But that couldn't be helped. Her energy is vibrant as are the ruby eyes that glare at him.

The sirens seem so distant as do the screams of the people.

He pretends he doesn't see her hastily wipe away a tear. Maybe that Stacy girl was the hardest to kill.

They leave the shadow of the restaurant behind and fly into the night.

* * *

He wakes to a musty room and pale arms wound around his waist.

The dark eyes open and the lips brush against his face.

Light sits up. The detective remains on his back, watching the ceiling. "I have to go."

"With Misa?"

He blinks. "How did you--?"

"That was more than sex." He ignores the blush that settles on the others cheeks. "The bond. Remember it, Light-kun. Don't break it."

"But how…oh."

"Don't take her."

"I won't."

"Promise me. If you want me to stay."

He gathers the detective in his arms. He's so light, lighter than he was before all this, before all this madness. "Come with me," he whispers.

Light showers. The water is lukewarm but warmer with the fingers and lips pressing against him. This is not happiness but he is content. He closes his eyes, moaning softly.

They dress and leave. The woman at the front desk gives a disapproving look to their twined fingers.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who has left a review or put this story on alert or your favourites. I realize this story might not cater to the mainstream of LxLight/LightxL fans, thus resulting in a small amount of feedback, but I wholly appreciate the feedback it _has_ received. It means a lot and keeps me writing. Well, faster anyway.

Reviews are love and love is welcome. )

Cheers,

_**elomelo**_


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